


You Spin Me Right Round

by EventHorizon



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Don’t copy to another site, M/M, Shopping for Vinyl, and falling in love, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2020-01-15 03:49:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18490720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EventHorizon/pseuds/EventHorizon
Summary: Mycroft goes on an adventure hunting for second-hand record albums and meets someone very unexpected, but extremely interesting, doing the same...





	You Spin Me Right Round

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently there are birthdays in the air! [Copgirl1964](http://copgirl1964.tumblr.com/) is relishing another year of being a wonderful, endlessly-supportive person though [Egmon73](https://egmon73.tumblr.com/) is most certainly not experiencing any further aging, despite being kindhearted and eternally encouraging. This story is a little something for them as a thank you for all the joy they've brought me through the years!

Casual attire?  Yes.  Comfortable shoes?  Yes.  Cash in pocket?  Certainly yes.  Sunglasses, if required?  Yes.  Large sturdy sacks?  Three.  Should it be four?  Four seemed a tad much, however, they nestled together, so an extra sack… or two… would be no more burdensome to carry than the existing complement and, further, would be camouflaged to conceal any potential eagerness.  Very well.  Large, sturdy sacks?  Three, with two more to be added from the coat closet where the sturdy shopping sacks were housed.  Water?  Tricky.  Vital, to be certain, but inconvenient to carry in quantity.  Likelihood of some enterprising individual selling water to thirsty browsers?  High.  Very well, cash in pocket would find a few notes dedicated to the purchase of water as it becomes necessary.

      “Are you ready, sir?”

Mycroft glanced at his driver who had arrived, entered the house as instructed and stood waiting for any boxes, sacks or whatnot that might need toting to the car in preparation of the great adventure.

      “Yes, Charles.  I believe so.  Yourself?”

      “Yes, sir.  Sacks, cash, and a snacks and water supply in the boot of the car.”

The boot!  How shortsighted could he be?  He could have filled a hamper with suitable nibbles and water to solve the water-bearing conundrum.  Not to mention a plethora of extra sturdy sacks.  Lesson learned, though it was too last-moment to put his learning to practical use.

      “Most foresighted of you.  Then, let us be off.”

      “Yes, sir.  Traffic is light, so we should arrive just before opening, as you requested.”

      “Paramount.  That is absolutely paramount.  I shall not be denied my wants because some grubby-fingered barbarian was three steps ahead of my pace.”

      “Very good, sir.  Have you a barbarian-clubbing stick on hand, perchance?”

      “No… dash it all.  And I have no time to acquire one.”

      “I’ll slip a spanner in my pocket just in case.”

      “That will do.”

__________

  Mycroft proudly stood at the head of the queue which was actually longer than he expected, but it did him a tiny bit of good to see it.  To know that there were still people, some of whom, admittedly, were clearly grubby-fingered barbarians that would fall victim to Charles’s spanner, who would travel over an hour out of London for an open-air record bazaar, was a breath of refreshing air in his lungs.  It was too clear that the bulk of humanity had descended into the muck of digital culture, but still there were those who held fast to a higher standard.

      “Looks like they’re opening, sir.  Want me to trip a few people to give you a larger head start?”

      “If it is not too much trouble.”

      “It’s why I exchanged my normal shoes for study boots.”

      “You will see a bonus in this month’s wage packet, Charles.”

      “Thank you, sir.  It’s nice to be appreciated.”

A flimsy rope was the only thing holding back the crowd, besides British good manners, and once it dropped it was like a storm surge crashing onto a lonely shoreline.  The large, people-empty area quickly filled with browsers hoping to find bargains and treasures among the thousands of second-hand vinyl that stretched across countless tables and shelves, some out on the open, some collected in small canopy-covered booths.  Every inch of the open field held promise and Mycroft fully expected to explore each of those inches to the fullest.  Oh!  And there was the refreshments area.  Very good to know…

__________

The first two of Mycroft’s sacks filled with vintage vinyl in the first half-hour of browsing through the loosely-organized ‘classical’ area and the third could perhaps hold another two albums before he would have to turn to his last-moment extra-sacks stash.  This was astonishing!  The quality of recordings he was finding had surprised him; only a few had been replaced in their display after inspection for scratches or warping.  And such a glorious trove of finds… he had discovered long-sought rarities and less-important pressings that he’d personally enjoyed through his life but had never bothered to add to his personal collection.  Now, though, for a few pounds, he could give them a home _in_ a home with the space properly to house them and their brethren.

Another hour of searching filled the fourth sack and half of the fifth, which was now posing a problem.  Vinyl, in quantity, was heavy.  And had to carried carefully to prevent bumping into people and things which might render his careful quality-focused inspections moot.  Luckily, there was a familiar boot-wearing figure in sight already walking in a helpful direction.

      “Charles!”

      “Oh, hello, sir.  Good lord, you’ve been busy.  Sir.”

      “That I have.  Are you, by any chance, going to the car?”

      “I am, actually.  Drop off this lot of lovelies, toss a pastry down my throat, then back into the fray I shall wade.  Are you hoping that your own lovelies might also be dropped off to save your arms snapping off at the shoulder?”

      “That is a succinct summary.  Is there any way to set them in the car and return the sacks?”

      “Oh, there is.  I filled the boot with those plastic milk crates.  Perfect for holding these bits of treasure straight up and down, so they’ll suffer less insult during the drive home.”

      “You have done this before, I suspect.”

      “Who was it that mentioned this little happening in the first place, sir?”

      “Point proven.”

      “There’s a book sale in two weeks, too.”

      “There is?”

      “I’ll have the crates ready and waiting, sir.”

      “Excellent.  Well, here are mine and I… I shall be near the refreshments when you are done.”

      “Yes, sir.  I’ll only be a moment.”

Because there’s a bit of a verbal scrum in the glam rock section and while they beat each other senseless with pretentious pedantry, the swift-fingered can grab goodies galore…

With his arms happily unburdened, Mycroft strode towards the various refreshment offerings and was happy to find a respectable tea and biscuit selection, which would do much to restore his vigor for another round of digging for gold.  And, of course, a bottle of water, because desiccating to the dryness of a mummy would certainly not aid in his quest for musical masterpieces.  It was doubtful the brittle arms of a mummy could successfully hoist even _one_ laden sack, so what good was the bloody thing?  None.  None at all.

More than ever he was happy he decided to act on Charles’s bit of information about today’s event.  It was a lovely day, his objective was more than being met, and the few items of work that had popped up on his mobile had been managed with either a curt call or a quick email.  He never truly had a day free from work, but he could make it known that he would not appreciate being bothered for matters that could be resolved by someone else who had not specifically placed a proverbial ‘out to lunch’ sign upon their door.  Such a rarity in his life was a day like this and it was surely something to savor…

      “Piece of that cake, too, if you will.  Coffee and cake… perfect for having a go through all of this.  Thanks!”

Oh no.  Gregory!  I mean… Detective Inspector Lestrade.  Why in blazes was he here?  Well, yes, likely for the same reason that everyone else is here, but why? Why, Gregory?  Do you not realize that if our eyes meet I may have to… talk to you?  I have no idea how to do that!  Well, yes, I know full well how to speak and am rather good at it, in point of fact, but not to you!  Not that I haven’t wished it, dear heavens, how I have wished it, but you are precisely the sort I daydreamed about in my youth to whom I could not talk, either.  Brilliantly handsome, rugged, radiating a sexual potency rivaling in heat the harshest rays of the summer sun.  Actually, this is England, so imagine the Caribbean sun, instead, or another locale where the sunshine envelops you with a consuming fire from which you cannot escape, so you may as well shed your clothing and dance naked in its glory.  No, forget that.  Gregory, do you hear?  Forget everything I just thought, especially the elements concerning nakedness.  Or you.  Or you naked.  Which I had not precisely thought before, but have now, so forget that, also.  If you would be so kind.

      “Mr. Holmes?  It is you!”

Eep!

      “Ah, Detective Inspector.  How… coincidental to find you here today.”

      “Not a coincidence if you’re a fan of vinyl, which I am.  I’m not a complete luddite and have shamed myself rather badly building a digital collection, but it doesn’t compare in sound quality with what you get from an honest record.  Maybe it’s nostalgia, but I can hear the difference and… well, this is an amazing chance to find amazing bargains, isn’t it?  Loads of stuff I would have committed murder to have when I was younger and it’s finally coming home with me.  I hope my neighbors are ready, because this stuff is meant to be played loud and I intend to do it full justice.  What about you, sir?  Doesn’t look like you’ve found too much yet or have you just gotten here?”

      “I… that is to say… you see…”

      “Here are you sacks, Mr. Holmes.  Round One is safely in the boot and there is more than sufficient room for another few equally-productive raids.  If you need me, I’ll be somewhere near the heated debate about the best incarnation of Bowie.  Wear earplugs for safety if you come calling.”

Mycroft sheepishly reached out and took the five emptied sacks and nodded at Charles who, out of force of habit, touched the brim of his non-existent hat and stalked off to brave the wilds of the 1970’s.

      “I stand corrected!  Won yourself a lot of prizes already, I see.”

      “Yes… I am somewhat surprised by what is on offer today.  I had not predicted such a lucrative avenue of exploration.”

      “Me neither, to tell the truth.  Had an off day and saw the advert for this in the newspaper, so I thought why not!  Borrowed a car from a mate and I can’t deny it’s been worth the time.  What do you have your eyes on, sir, if I might ask?”

You.

      “Various… classical titles.”

      “Ooh, nice!”

      “You… you enjoy classical music?”

      ‘I do.  I don’t listen to it much, though.”

      “Why not?”

      “Because I pay attention to it.”

      “Pardon?”

      “I pay attention to it.  With my stuff, I can put it on and… it surrounds me.  It’s part of me and I don’t have to pay it any mind to have a blast with it all.  Read a book, do some paperwork I’ve brought home with me… do just about anything and have my music blaring away.  But put on a classical piece and… it’s more like I’m outside looking in.  Watching the music happen, picking out the various bits, having to keep an eye on how it all flows together.  It’s bizarre, I know.  Same with a film versus an audiobook.  I can have a film on and have one eye on it while I’m doing something else.  An audiobook?  I can’t have an ear on that and any part of me doing something else.  It’s got to be both ears and my brain focusing in on what’s being said, which doesn’t leave me with much left to get something else done.  Make sense?”

Strangely, yes.

      “It does.  For me, classical is what encompasses my senses so I do not have to focus attention on each note and bar, though I relish doing so when I feel the urge.  Films, however, beckon my conscious attention and I can do little else when I choose to indulge I one.”

      “Glad to hear I’m not as loony as I thought!  I _would_ like to add some quality picks to my small classical collection.  Have any suggestions?  Seen anything out in that vast, black sea of turntable brilliance that an occasional listener absolutely should have?”

_ Gregory was seeking recommendations?  That… that was high praise.  A recognition of expertise… _

_ Come on, Mycroft… I know milling about with a common cop isn’t your normal cup of tea, but make an exception for me, will you?  If you have any idea how often I’ve fantasized about strolling along the pavement, doing the window-shopping thing with your long, luscious self, you’d be scandalized.  My birthday is coming soon and this would be the best present I’ve ever had since my first football appeared under the Christmas tree when I was six  I promptly kicked it through the kitchen window, which was an impressive show of kicking power for my age, but that bit is best forgotten, most likely. _

      “I saw a goodly number of selections, actually.  Have you pen and paper?  I shall write them down for you.”

Greg popped the last bite of cake into his mouth, chased it with the final swallow of his coffee, tossed the cup into the bin and shook his head.  Greg the Bold was about to set off on a mission of honor, or hormones, and he would spectacularly succeed or fail.  Either way.  Succeed spectacularly or fail spectacularly.  Greg the Bold did nothing if not spectacularly.  Except quaff coffee without spilling a drop on his shirt.  Shit.  Don’t try and rub it, don’t draw attention to it, be cool Bold Greg, be cool…

      “If you’re going back that way, you can just point a few out to me, if that’s easier.”

And extend my time in your presence, Gregory?  When I can fully lay the responsibility for the protracted interaction squarely on your broad shoulders and not on what I would certainly interpret as a wildly presumptive act on my part?  Let me think, such a difficult question…

      “Of course, a most efficient solution.  Shall we?”

      “Let’s go!  I’ve already told my wallet that complaining is an arrestable offense today, so I’m prepared to spend large.”

      “A laudable mindset.  One must, on occasion, enrich one’s mind and spirit without concern for enriching one’s pocket.”

      “Especially with bargains this good.”

      “They make the enriching especially rich, indeed.”

__________

      “Houston, we have a problem.”

Greg looked in the boot of Mycroft’s large sedan as they made their second trek to the vehicles to unload their bounty and found a situation as sad as one could imagine.

      “Mr. Lestrade is correct, sir.  We have exceeded crate capacity.”

Mycroft nodded and looked between his and Charles’s bulging sacks and the last few inches of space in the one crate having any space remaining for storage.

      “That we have.  A most vexatious situation.”

      “Hmmmmmm….”

      “Detective Inspector?”

      “Well, I was thinking… first, about using milk crates myself next time I do one of these things… but, more to the point, these crates aren’t rare, you just don’t have any more of them.”

Mycroft and Charles shared a look that said they knew the Detective Inspector was an intelligent man and had not, today, suffered a debilitating head injury so there must be some point in all of that.  Perhaps one he was creeping up upon slowly so as not to startle it.

      “Yes, Detective Inspector… that is an… observation, I must admit.”

      “Yeah, sorry, sir.  I trundled off into the daisies there at the end, sir, but what I was trying to say and failing…”

Spectacularly.

      ‘… was that someone who might have a crate _now_ might be willing to trade it for cash to buy another at a later date.”

Looking back at the mass of vendors, many of whom had empty or half-filled crates of a similar type on top of or under their tables, Greg finally pounced upon his point and pinned it to the ground in victory.

      “Ahhh... I see.  An individual with effective negotiating skills might acquire any number of storage crates with the simple transfer of funds.  I believe, no… I am convinced… that there exists such a person on whom we can count to secure for us what we need.”

With a quick yank of several banknotes from his wallet, Mycroft passed the cash to Charles and made a ‘hurry along’ motion that had Greg more than slightly perplexed.

      “Your driver?  Why… I thought you were describing yourself, sir?”

      “Me?  You have obviously never seen the man slide a large, high-momentum vehicle into a parking space with a millimeter clearance on both sides, race out of said vehicle towards a comic book shop clutching a tenner in his fingers and race back with, under one arm, a life-size cardboard figure of Sir Ian McKellan in a rather intriguing costume and, cradled by the other arm, a stack of comics the thickness of the unabridged Oxford English Dictionary.  With a pack of chewing gum clutched between his teeth in what seemed the coup de gras for the entire transaction.  It was an interesting thing to ride to Whitehall with a peer of the realm in fancy dress seated next to me.”

      “That’s… impressive.”

      “Quite.”

      “And you got to share a ride with Magneto.  That’s impressive on its own.”

      “Oh, was that the character?  I am not much aware of the popular entertainment culture.”

      “Yeah, that was him.  At least in the films.  The younger version was played by Michael Fassbender.  It’s rather even odds who was sexier, but I don’t mind either way because… well, sexy is sexy.”

Greg’s wide smile faltered slightly realizing what he’d just let slip, especially seeing the widening eyes of the man staring at him in disbelief.

      “Sexy, Detective Inspector.  I… I had no idea you were… admiring of fictional characters of a certain… persuasion?”

You’re giving me a way out, sir, and that’s decent of you, but… Greg the Bold is in the driver’s seat today, albeit a borrowed one and certainly not as impressive as the one for the dark beauty I’m leaning against, and he might as well live to fight another day or die by the sword that he just used to slit his own throat.  Whatever.  Something like that.  The coffee is wearing off.

      “I do, actually.  Fairly equally, in fact, with characters of another _persuasion_ such as…”

Ok, what comic book characters have names that actually show they’re women?  Mostly the ones with ‘woman’ in the title, which is a touch uncreative…

      “Catwoman, Wonder Woman, Scarlet Witch…”

Good going brain!”

      … Electra, Black Widow… I’m fairly open in my admiration.”

That was about as obliquely direct as possible.  Bold Greg stormed forth in a curlicue, but got there in the end.

      “I see.  That is very… well, it is the wise man who knows his wants and accepts them.”

Was that good?  Why didn’t Greg the Bold speak Mycroft?  Stupid conqueror slept through that class in school, lazy bastard.

      “Thank you, sir.”

      “I… I will admit that, while I might appreciate the accomplishments of, say, Ms. Electra, who or whatever she might be, that would be the extent of my admiration.”

_ Ok.  Ok ok ok ok ok… that was a lot of disclosure for someone chatting with a casual acquaintance who’s got coffee on his shirt.  Could it be?  You don’t disclose without a fucking good reason for disclosing.  Trust, yes, that could be it, but… maybe the discloser hoped the disclose-ee might, in some way, want to make use of that disclosure.  Not something evil, but something the polar opposite of evil.  Anti-evil.  Shit, now he was back in comic book world and that wasn’t going to get him anywhere with Mr. Discloser, now was it? _

_ Oh dear heavens… thou hast darted into the fray, unhinged and unholy brain, braying to the four winds the private, most intimate, details of your sad, lonely life.  And you, mouth… your complicity has not gone unnoticed.  Could you not have stayed helpfully closed and let my maniacal mind trumpet its pronouncement within the silent confines of my skull?  No, no you could not.  You simply had to reach out to the man who had so brazenly bared his own secrets and meet them with open arms.  And a stilted, scripted speech.  Why is Gregory smiling? _

      “That’s… that’s good to know, sir.  A man should appreciate accomplishments from all _persuasions_ of people, but that’s not what keeps one company on a quiet Sunday afternoon, I must admit.”

Did that make sense?  No.  What happened to Greg the Brash, younger and leaner version of Greg the Bold, who could pull anyone, at any time, for any manner of fun whatsoever?  Slide in with ‘The Grin’, run the fingers through the hair, say the right words in the right tone… oh yeah, he got old, spilled coffee on himself and nearly tripped over his shoelaces twice today.   Why is Mycroft smiling?

      “True.  Very true.  I had not realized, Detective Inspector, that we were of such like mind.”

Though I have hoped for that very thing, despite being utterly incapable of engaging you in meaningful conversation during the numerous times we have met in the past.  Admittedly, those were entirely for the purpose of remedying some nonsense perpetrated by my brother, but… perhaps that was the issue.  We have never met for the purpose of social discourse or engagement before today.  Is it… might it be possible to do such again?  Not that my conversational courage can be counted upon to last beyond the intoxicating experience of growing my hoard of music, but I… would like it to do that very thing.  Especially with you.

      “I hadn’t either.  It’s ummm… it’s good to know.”

      “I agree.”

      “Yeah.”

Even from the center of the milling throng, Charles could hear the sound of teeny heart-shaped arrows being fired at the two men stupidly smiling at each other and shook his head sadly.  He’d wagered it would be another six months, at least, before they acted on their mutual and ridiculously-obvious pining and he was now out twenty quid.  Ok, time to put bargaining skills into hyperdrive and get these crates for truly ruthless prices so he could recoup his losses with a bit with Mr. Holmes’s cash.  Not that he’d get to keep it, of course.  At least one bottle of champagne would need to be bought to celebrate this turn of events, probably two, so the money would go to a good cause.  Anthea could supply the headache tablets for the dreaded morning-after throbbing head.  Hers would be pounding as heavily as his, even with an extra twenty pounds in her pocket…

__________

      “Houston, we have a problem.”

Greg looked in the boot of Mycroft’s large sedan, then in the passenger compartment, _then_ in the driver’s compartment and found a situation as sad as one could imagine.

      “Mr. Lestrade is correct, sir.  We have exceeded car capacity.”

Mycroft nodded and looked between his and Charles’s bulging crates which now filled every space of the car except one bit directly in front of the steering column just large enough for a Charles-size arse.

      “That we have.  A most vexatious situation.”

      “Hmmmmmm….”

      “Detective Inspector?”

      “It’s not grand, but I do have a car.  And there’s still space for a passenger in the front.”

Mycroft felt only slightly chagrined that it took him a few seconds to catch on and did his best to hide his confusion with a reflective tapping of his chin.

      “I would hate to be a burden to you, Detective Inspector.”

      “We’re both going to London, so it’s not much of a burden.  I’m more worried about your legs.  It’s a small car, so don’t expect to stretch out and recuperate from being on your feet all day today.  But, you’re welcome to ride with me if your legs won’t take their revenge on you later.”

Should he?  It was a kind offer.  A generous offer.  One made by a kind and generous man.  Who… _could_ have offered to take a few of crates of albums instead of the man who purchased them.  Especially given the subject of… legs.  Gregory had worried about his legs and they were certainly better served in his car than the toy version that had brought the Detective Inspector out today.  The evidence seemed to weigh on the side of… Gregory wanted to escort him home!  Or not, because Gregory was not a roguish youth and he was not a portly teenager, a combination of their youthful selves that would be mandatory for such a puerile statement to have been mentally shouted by the portly teenager in question.  Gadzooks, but he was emotive today.  Oh, Gregory was waiting for an answer.  Very well, fortune favors… the not timid.

      “I would be delighted, actually.  I have learned through many a cramped and uncomfortable meeting how to reduce the level of vengeance my legs plan and subsequently wreak upon me, so I have little fear of this particular situation.  Charles, if you arrive first, please unload my purchases in the library.”

      “Of course, sir.  Well, I’d best be at it, then.  Good day to you, Mr. Lestrade.  Mr. Holmes, I’ll take care of everything on this end if you… are delayed.”

Quickly closing all the doors, Charles then leapt into the driver’s seat, opened the can of Coke he’d bought as a treat and sped away from the two men who were pondering his small pause and pointed smile.  Hopefully, they’d ponder it in the right direction.  Mr. Holmes might muck it up, but that Mr. Lestrade had a more practical head on his shoulders.  And a better idea where to buy condoms on short notice.

Deciding he’d best get things rolling, Greg made a motion towards his car and the two began walking, taking one final look at the still-busy bazaar, feeling sorry for the poor punters who’d gotten there after them, because they’d nabbed the day’s best deals and nobody could convince them otherwise.  And, after a few moments of ensuring Greg’s treasure was secure for transport, they followed after Charles, though at a much more sedate pace.

      “This is not nearly as cozy as you described, Detective Inspector.”

Should he?  Yes, he should.  So declareth Greg the Bold.

      “Call me Greg, sir.  Or Gregory, because I know you like things a touch on the formal side.  It seems appropriate after today.”

      “Oh, thank you, Gregory.  And do call me Mycroft.  There is no acceptable diminutive of that, I fear, for I know you prefer a less-formal mode of address.”

      “I’m fine with Mycroft.  Always liked your name, actually.  It’s unique, but not stuffy or pompous.”

      “Very kind of you.  In my youth, I did not hold a fond opinion of it, but now I am content with the appellation.”

      “I can see that and easily.  So…”

Now that we seem to be doing that like-minded thing again and maybe something a little extra, too…

      “… your driver can take care of your albums?”

      “Yes, Charles is authorized to access my home, as he often has to either deliver or retrieve items when I cannot do so myself.  And I have little doubt he will treat my purchases with the same care as his own.”

      “Then… do you have anything else you planned to do today?”

Gregory… are you… fishing?  And, if so, for what?  What fish are available?  Good lord, there was an ocean of possibilities and his mind could not fathom a single species!

      “No, nothing in particular.  I had expected to, if today proved fruitful, listen to some of my acquisitions, but no other items of interest were on my agenda.”

      “Ok…”

Bold.  Greg the Bold.  Not Greg the Old or Greg the Fold.  To infinity and beyond!

      “… what I was thinking, if you’d like to, is… a few nibbles while treasure hunting is fine, but I could do with something heartier in my stomach.  So maybe a bite to eat, then… there’s a little jazz club I know where the music starts fairly early since the patrons and performers have actual jobs, so don’t go in much for dragging home in the wee hours.  There’s time to get a drink or two in between, as well, since even a working-people’s jazz club sells overpriced booze and one costs-the-moon whisky is good enough to nurse while enjoying a bit of live music  They book good groups, so no worries about suffering through some ear-shredding nonsense that they call experimental, but that’s because no actual name exists for the mess they’re making.  Only if you want to, that is.  If you’re not… _not_ liking what you’re hearing.”

Trundling back into the daisies.  Then staggering off the edge of a cliff.  Landing in a nice pile of sheep dung. Really what was all of that, brain?  Greg the Brash spits upon you and makes a few really rude gestures at you, too.  He knew some good ones.  Many a bone-bruising fight was had over the quality of his rude gestures, as you well know.

      “Dear me.. I…”

      ‘It’s ok if that’s not your sort of thing, sir, I mean…”

      “No!  No, that sounds delightful, actually.  I am not averse to jazz, especially if it is competently performed and I am also not averse to something besides biscuits to see me through the day.”

Though none of that is as delectable as the opportunity to spend more time with you, Gregory.  That level of delectability is nonexistent in the universe, though I shall consult with a physicist to ensure I am not insulting you with a verifiably-false claim.

      “Ok, then… we have a plan.  A fun plan, too, which is the best kind on a free day.”

      “Most certainly.  Too often my plans involve some form of paperwork, or personal errands, such as sitting and enduring the tender mercies of my barber or tailor.”

      “Ugh… when free day becomes errand day and you’re happy you got a lot done that needed to be done, but angry that none of it was any fun at all.  We should make a pact.  No more than… 50% of a free day can be un-fun stuff?  Is that too high or too low, you think?”

      “Hmmm… is it acceptable to set that as a preliminary number, then assess it’s applicability after several free days where one attempts to conform to that dictate?”

      “Yeah, that’s acceptable.  Fifty percent to start, then refine as we go.”

Mycroft the Bold, for matters not involving work, didn’t exist, but Mycroft the Tentatively Intrepid _did_ and he came striding out around the tree he’d been hiding behind to add his sword to the fight.

      “However, it must be said that for all human endeavors, individuals are not their own best evaluators.”

      “Come again?”

Mycroft the Tentatively Intrepid stumbles slightly, then spit shines his blade and leaps in for another attempt.

      “I wonder if we each… on our own… could properly keep to the limits we have set…”

Swishing the spit-shined blade in the sun to strike fear in the heart of those who found shiny blades daunting!

      ‘… it is, perhaps, a wise idea to, at least on occasion, have another person assess our progress.”

Greg did his utmost to not bounce up and down in his seat and not only because it might result in their deaths as the car plowed into a wall or swan.  There was no mistaking that offer, none at all.  Not even with _his_ brain, which hadn’t made its best showing today, so Mycroft’s meaning was clear as crystal.

      “That’s a very smart thought.  I would be honored if someone with keen evaluatory skills, such as yourself, could give some of my free days a look over to see if I’m abiding by our guidelines.”

Mycroft knew that he was far too physically old and far too emotionally mature to shimmy in his seat, but he still had to forcibly clench his buttocks and hold his arms to his side to prevent the shimmy from occurring.  This was stupendous!  They were… doing something!  It was not particularly clear what, but it was encouraging, nonetheless!

      “It would be my pleasure, especially if you would be so kind as to reciprocate.”

      “I’m… I would be more than happy to perform that service.”

Mycroft’s and Greg’s lucky stars looked down and wondered if either man was aware of the tiny victory dances they were doing in their seats and decided against calling any of it to their attention.  It had been exhausting enough to get them to even speak to each other, let alone weave together something approaching a date, and nothing would be done that might even possibly overturn this apple cart.

      “Then, Gregory, I believe we have, as they say, a deal.”

      “We do.  Of course, that means we actually have to _have_ a free day, which… well, I’m certain yours are as rare as mine.”

      “Sadly true.  Should…”

Wave that shiny sword tentatively-intrepid warrior!

      “… should we expand that to partial days, as well?  Say an _evening_ free?”

      “That… that’s top-notch thinking, Mycroft.  That would… add a lot of data points to our analysis.”

      “Gregory… how quantitative of you.”

      “Liked that?  I depleted every bit of quantitativeness I had, but it was worth it.”

He had to wonder a moment who was laughing before Mycroft realized it was him.  And, in complete defiance of his moratorium on laughing in public, he let this one fly free and relished the sound of Greg joining in.  Today did not go, at all, according to expectations, but what a joyful set of surprises he had experienced.  It was as if someone had read his dreams and decided to make the most delicious come true.

      “Mycroft… does it look like that little shop ahead has ice cream?”

And, speaking of delicious…

      “Oh my.  Yes, it does.”

      “Lawks!  The car is steering itself towards that open space a few doors along.  I can’t stop it.  Got a mind of its own!”

      “Do not resist, Gregory, lest you cause yourself an injury.”

      “Good advice.  AAAHHH!!!  Some magical force is pulling me out of the car!”

      “Shall I save you?”

      “You can’t.  I’m in… a tractor beam of some sort.  Come along to make certain some alien doesn’t eat me?”

      “Of course.  It is the least I can do.”

      “We may… I’m not sure, but, though _I_ may not be eaten, _we_ could be forced to eat ice cream before we escape this maelstrom of invisible forces.”

      “I tremble at the thought, however, needs must when the devil drives.”

      “And ice cream is involved.”

      “That goes without saying.”


End file.
